Coincidence - alternative end
by DachderWelt
Summary: Darker version of my story 'Coincidence'. This time Gibbs is right: there are no coincidences. Khalid brings his prisoner from Somalia to Israel unhindered. Neither Mossad nor NCIS is there to rescue her and Ziva's future is nonexistent. A story in two parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Coincidence - alternative end**

Darker version of my story 'Coincidence'. This time Gibbs is right: there are no coincidences. Khalid brings his prisoner from Somalia to Israel unhindered. Neither Mossad nor NCIS is there to rescue her and Ziva's future is nonexistent.

A story in two parts.

* * *

 _Welcome to this alternative storyline of_ Coincidence _._

 _While writing_ Coincidence _, the story had me captured and intrigued, especially the event of the actual 'coincidence'. And as always I wondered, how would things end if small events happened differently?_

 _English is not my first language, please forgive spelling mistakes and messing with the tenses._

 _NCIS does not belong to me._

 _Warning : As in _Coincidence _there will be mention of violence, general mistreatment and rape (nothing graphic). Regardless this story is much darker and sadder than its original. I don't want to say more but please be aware of it._

 _..._

 _You may be able to understand the storyline without knowing the original story yet I would recommend reading_ Coincidence _first (_ _ _at least the first chapter, after that the stories diverge.)__

 _For those of you who are too lazy to read it, here's a short summary of the important events:_

 _As in the show, Ziva's stuck in Somalia. One day an old friend of Saleem (named Khalid) arrives at his camp. After some friendly bantering Khalid reveals that he has order to bring "the Mossad spy" back to their mutual boss: Al Hari. He wants the daughter of the Mossad director as leverage to use her against Eli David and Mossad.  
Reluctantly, Saleem allows them to take his favorite prisoner away.  
Khalid and his men return towards Israel, intending to bring Ziva to Al Hari. After crossing the border to Israel, Mossad ambushes them for suspected weapon smuggling, not knowing anything about Ziva being with them. They find their missing officer and bring her to a hospital where she phones Gibbs. Thereupon, Gibbs, Abby, Tony and McGee come to Israel and there is a lot of interaction between them, Ziva and Eli David._

* * *

.

 **Coincidence - alternative end**

 **Part I**

In Tel Aviv, Eli David looked at the picture of his three children. Now the last one was probably dead as well. Tali had been too gentle, Ari too bitter but Ziva… given other circumstances she might have had a chance of outliving her father.

He just got a call by an officer in Mombasa, Kenya, confirming that Ziva had not checked in after leaving her partner behind. Ben-Gidon was on his way back, no doubt terrified to meet him now his partner, his director's daughter had disappeared.

He should have stopped their mission when talking to Ben-Gidon.

He should have stopped them, but he didn't and now Ziva had paid the price.

The future he had once dreamed of, of happy grandchildren in a peaceful country, now that door had closed. Anyway, it had been a naïve dream.

They knew the risk and they failed.

He outlived all his children. He forbade himself thinking of the other option. Dead was better than captured. Yes, she might have failed to kill the target but Ziva would never allow them to capture her alive. _Ziva is dead_ , he decided and closed the classified folder in front of him.

Tali, Ari, Ziva. Dead, all of them.

 **oOo**

 _Two months later_

The stranger looked at Saleem. "You won't like this but… when Al Hari learned who she is and heard about my visit, he told me to bring her back with me to his place.

Indeed, Saleem did not like this. He was silent, rejecting. Then: "She is my prisoner, Khalid."

"Saleem, be reasonable. With her, Al Hari can achieve much more for our objectives than you can do it here in the desert. You've done a great job when capturing her. He will not forget that."

Saleem only narrowed his eyes in anger.

 **oOo**

Saleem might not like it but he depended on the support by Al Hari. To not lose it, he was forced to surrender to his will, forced to hand over his favorite prisoner.

Ziva's will was irrelevant, of course. They had claimed her like cargo, a precious one, sure, but a non-living piece of prized cargo nonetheless. One to take care of, to keep safe and alive for the sake of her value to others, not because she was recognized as a human being with inalienable rights.

In Somalia they started with two pickup trucks and for weeks they traveled through the hot land over rough roads or no roads at all. Traveling north. No one told Ziva their destination, but a suspicion had risen early. Israel. Or a neighboring country. Lebanon, maybe. Palestine.

One day somewhere in Egypt Ziva assumed, their routine of treating her had changed. Now they started to make an effort to hide her. She had to sit inside the driver's cabin instead of the open back and they often prevented her to see or to be seen. One time they even shoved her to the foot area, a hand pressed roughly over her mouth.

She suspected they were approaching Sinai, just West of Israel. That suspicion gave her hope and one night when they were close to some town and half of the men had gone there Ziva got the opportunity she waited so long for.

One of them approached her in their sickening way, pulled away the blanket and hauled her a few meters away from the others to the darkness for some privacy. No one took much notice as it was a regular nocturnal occurrence. And as much as Ziva loathed it, they there stronger than her, so most times she kept quiet and endured it like the good little soldier she was, silently hating them, silently vowing vengeance and imagining how to hurt them back.

Away from the glow of the fire he started to undo her clothes. He still carried his weapon. Her hands were tied but it did not stop her. While he leaned over her, distracted with pulling up her shirt Ziva took it slowly out of its holster, discreetly scanning her surrounding for the others. They sat around the fire, no one was close, and it was dark. She took the barrel into her hand and hit him over the head, hard. A moan and he collapsed on top of her.

She pushed him down and crawled away, afraid that standing up would be noticed by them.

The men at the fire heard the moan and laughed, thinking he enjoyed his sweet time over there in the darkness. One called out tauntingly: "It's that good already, Saïd?"

But Saïd couldn't answer, Ziva realized with sudden fright and for a moment she was frozen. Then a flashlight was directed to the darkness, revealing the unconscious man. They cried out in rage. A few meters away, Ziva jumped to her feet and ran, the gun still clenched in her tied hands, panic and adrenalin powered her sprint. They started chasing her, shouting angrily. Stones cut in to her feet, ribs burned, weak legs struggled to keep the balance and speed while she ran as fast as she could.

They were faster.

They came closer.

 _She would not escape_. The thought crushed her. The fastest of them was less than five meters away when she stopped, whirled around and shot. He fell. Her second shot missed the next man and the third hit someone, but it was not fatal, he just cried out furiously. The next second they were on her. She fell under them. One sat on her back, his arm around her throat, another on her legs. The third one checked the man she had shot. He was not dead yet but close.

 **oOo**

Khalid was furious. At himself and at the Mossad bitch. They had underestimated her. She had been so weak and non-resisting that they had let their guard down. Doesn't matter if she planned it or just grasped the opportunity, _it should not have happened_.

They laid her unconscious form next to the fire, tied securely. He watched her for the rest of the night, hate and rage kept him awake. She woke a few hours later and the desperation in her eyes calmed him slightly. Still he bent down and brought his mouth close to her ear. "You will pay for this," he promised her in a low vicious voice.

 **oOo**

In D.C. Ziva was missed sorely. The search for a replacement was pointless. Ziva was not replaceable. But she had left them, stayed behind in Israel and now she was dead. Since May, more than two months ago. And Mossad had told them nothing. _Nothing_. Tony's dislike of her father grew into hate. She _died_ on a mission for _him_ and _he did not even inform them_.

She died in a shipwreck after all. Tony would have never imagined her ending this way, no one had. Sometimes, when he saw ships on the Potomac River he only saw dead Zivas, soaked and her dark hair floating around her weightlessly.

 **oOo**

The next morning Khalid assembled his men around her. A show was just what his men needed, so he appreciated the theatricality.

Saïd held her on her knees, a visible bump decorating his temple. Contrary to that she let her head hang down, face concealed by her hair.

"You will never run from us again. That I will promise you."

Saïd shoved her to the ground until she was sitting and cut the straps around her ankles. Then he lifted her head by the dark hair.

Ali had his arm in a sling where she had shot him last night, but he did not need both hands to pull out one of her legs.

The fear in her eyes was unmistakable and by now she was shaking visibly. In vain she fought his firm grip on her leg and tried to pull it back. "No… No, please…"

Khalid stepped closer. "You will never run from us again," he repeated and stamped down hard on her shin, once, twice. The awful crack seemed to reverberate in her whole body and she screamed out and cried.

 **oOo**

The trucks stopped at an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere and most of the men got out of the cars. Two heavily armed men awaited them, and they talked to each other, Khalid gestured in her direction once. Then the men started to carry boxes, countless boxes and some sacks out of the building and loaded them on the two pickup trucks they had traveled in and a third one waiting there.

One of the foreigners drew closer slowly, a smirk on his face as he tried to get a better view of the woman in the driver's cabin. Khalid noticed it and opened the door to drag her outside. Ziva balanced on her good leg and blinked at them resignedly. One of the men emerged out of the building, a box in his hands. Seeing them he stopped, his eyes narrowed, and he opened the wooden lit and pulled out a heavy gun. He shoved it into her stomach furiously. "She killed my friend yesterday." He explained to the stranger. Somewhere a shot went off and Ziva jerked in surprise. Khalid suddenly smiled. "Bring her here."

He tied her hands to a fencepost and whispered something to the angry young man.

Without a warning he raised his weapon and shot at her.

Ziva's heart suddenly raced wildly and for a moment she didn't know if she was hit. Looking down she could see nothing. Smiling he raised the gun again, this time slowly and menacing, directed it to her chest, then to the head. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears, she both feared and hoped for the bullet. Others had joined them, pulling out weapons as well.

Ziva straightened and raised her head proudly, staring down their weapons.

 _Should get used to it,_ she thought _. After all, she would die, one way or the other. And she_ _'_ _d prefer being shot to other ways of dying._

 **oOo**

Missed for 10 weeks, Officer Ziva David was unofficially declared dead by Mossad. Perhaps her body would be found someday, in a week, a month or after years, so her death could be officially confirmed.

Hoping was in vain. Eli had hoped for a sign of life, had feared and hoped for a ransom demand but nothing had come. Hoping was in vain because if still alive they would have heard about his daughter by now. She'd be a valuable hostage. But the dead hold no value for terrorists.

 **oOo**

The next morning, instead of hauling her to her feet after the waking call, two of them approached her, one holding a syringe. Suddenly he morphed into Saleem with his truth serum and Ziva panicked, yelled and kicked at them. Her escape attempt several days ago had alerted them and instantly they were all on her. Her panic rose, and she fought with all she had, tears on her face. One pressed on her broken leg and she screamed louder until a hand covered her mouth. She bit, hard, and a second voice continued the screaming. They twisted her arms and she pulled away and a sickening crack later something in her hand had broken. Someone angrily barked orders. An elbow was around her throat, they stretched her arm and the syringe pierced her skin. A moment later something connected with her head and she lost consciousness.

She woke up to laughter and pain. The pain was her own, the laughter came from far away, behind a door. The room she was in was gloomy and completely empty. Her right wrist and hand was swollen, and she slowly rotated the arm to inspect it. The skin had not broken but the flesh was red, swollen and tender. It was painful yet not as much as the leg.

They had changed cars Ziva noticed when they brought her outside a few hours later. She was now transported in the back of a normal car, its back windows so dark she could hardly see outside. Not that it mattered: They did not want to reveal to her where they were heading, so before they even started Khalid pulled out that loathsome bag and put it over her head.

From that day on they travelled only by night, if at all. Some nights they preferred to stay hidden, the atmosphere tense while frustrated whispering and hot arguments rose. Ziva often found herself on the receiving end of their bad temper. Thankfully their attacks were primary insults and threats about what to do with her, as Khalid had prohibited most of the obvious physical mistreatment in fear of killing her after all. Of course, it didn't stop the men to indulge in their cruelty completely. There was still the occasional hit to the face, pulling at her hair or kick to the ribs if she did not get up fast enough.

 **oOo**

A week ago, the team of Leroy Jethro Gibbs had found out about Saleem's Caf-Pow addiction as well as his location and they were now preparing to avenge their former team member.

The mission was successful, Saleem and his men taken out, the camp dismantled, and yet no one was celebrating.

They would have never expected what they learned there. Ziva had been here. She had not died on the Damocles. Ziva had been a prisoner here until – a month ago – some other asshole claimed her and took her away. To some Hamas bigwig in Israel. _In Israel_. Saleem was clearly hateful about them, spilling his anger about their leader to his two prisoners but he did not tell them where his place was. Tony tried desperately to get him revealing it, who exactly had taken her, which route, intention…

They had no chance to signal Gibbs to _not shoot him_ although McGee tried it but the sniper was far away and in the end Saleem was dead and all his knowledge lost.

 **oOo**

"How's the leg, Princess?" A malicious voice asked suddenly and at the same time a heavy hand fell down on her knee. Startled, a sharp hiss escaped her, and he chuckled. "Not good, I suppose." By now one of them had set the bone, splinted it crudely with two wooden sticks and some tape. It still hurt as hell. Every movement of herself or the car was agonizing, and it prevented very effectively any thought of an escape.

The pressure of his hand made the leg throb wildly. That moment, Ziva was grateful for the sack over her head because it covered the unwanted tears.

 _Tears mean weakness. Do not show weakness_.

"I promised you will regret killing him" he continued and strengthened his grip around her knee. By now Ziva was shaking and she fought to suppress a pained whimper. She used her tied hands to push his hand aside, her nails scratching over his flesh. He removed his hand and grabbed her throat instead. "Oh, little Princess," he whispered to her ear, "I can't wait to see you with Al Hari."

"Just leave her be, man. Aren't you tired of that by now?" The annoyed voice came from the front.

"Shut up. Don't tell me what to do. He was my friend," he answered but removed his hand.

Finally, the car stopped for the last time and the men around her cheered. It was true, they arrived after all. She had hoped for a miracle until the end. It was in vain. Ziva took a deep breath, her posture stiff, eyes closed. The door opened, and two sets of hands grabbed her arms and pulled her outside. "Come on, Princess."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading and I'd be very happy if you write some words for me. Seriously, it makes me smile every time :)  
_

 _Until next time!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for your reviews_ _ **BKeh, Hetwaszoietsals, DS2010**_ _and_ _ **Debbie**_ _, you are great!  
_

 _._

* * *

 **Coincidence - Alternative end**

 **Part II**

 _Finally, the car stopped for the last time and the men around her cheered. So it was true, they arrived after all. She had hoped for a miracle until the end. It was in vain. Ziva took a deep breath, her posture stiff, eyes closed. The door opened and two sets of hands grabbed her arms and pulled her outside. "Come on, Princess."_

Suppressing another whimper Ziva limped in between them, her left leg angled. Despite the bag covering her eyes, she could almost feel the disparaging stares directed at her. People were moving around her, more than the ten men who had brought her from Somalia. Or rather nine. Like the man from the car had reminded her so kindly, she had killed one of them. She might have lived for days of that feeling alone, if not for – her left foot hit something hard and instantly all thoughts were forgotten as an excruciation pain shot through her leg.

If only the two other shots had hit as well… If only she had been faster… If only she had shot them the second she got the gun instead of running away mindlessly …

Suddenly, the harsh sunlight disappeared and Ziva felt the hot air around her cooling and understood that they had entered a building.

Someone removed the bag and Ziva blinked in the sudden light. Mossad's 'wanted' pictures were always up to date so she recognized the tall, thin man seated opposite of her. It really was him. Al Hari. Many men were around him most of them openly armed. There were even three women dressed in traditional clothing, one older and two young ones, one of them almost a child. Their faces were blank, and they avoided eye contact.

Al Hari wore an expression of professional interest. "Welcome to my base, Ziva David." He spoke Arabic in a soft voice. "I'm very happy you are here finally. I'm sure your father will be delighted to hear from you."

His eyes wandered over her face and body, stopped at the obvious injuries such as her leg. "Make it easier for you and behave. I have some plans that will need your… assistance."

Ziva straitened her back. Everyone had plans for her. He was just the last in a long line. "Blackmailing won't work." She said matter-of-factly, hating that she sounded so hoarse.

"My dear, let it be my concern."

 _What would he do as soon as he realized Mossad would not budge?_

"Musa, check her over. Catalog the injuries and treat them. After all, we want you to feel comfortable." He grinned at Ziva and turned to one of the men. "Take some pictures as well. Grab someone to help you and feel free to require more if she's resisting. Khalid, stay here and tell me about your journey."

Feeling lightheaded and dizzy, Ziva did not resist. Musa did not have to ask for volunteers. Two of the armed men were right at his side announcing they would take care that the Mossad bitch behaved like a good little prisoner.

They took her to another room and forced her to lie on a stretcher. One hold her hands over her head, the other took charge of her feet. Ziva inhaled sharply when the movement stretched her ribs and pulled at her broken leg and wrist.

Musa displayed a professional, detached face. He injected her some liquid with a syringe and a short time later the pain started to subside. Ziva exhaled slowly, shoulders slackening. It was a strange feeling, being almost without pain. He started the examination, turned her head carefully, roamed his fingers over her skull and lighted in her eyes to look for a concussion. The swollen flesh around her eye and her almost healed nose got checked and cleaned and he stitched a rather large wound on her forehead.

After that he turned to the desk and sat down, writing.

Ziva watched the bare ceiling, she felt tired and nauseous. He came back with a camera and a knife in his hands and even though she had buried herself deep inside, the knife triggered her fear. It lowered near her throat, yet it only cut through her stained, filthy shirt, exposing her to the waist. She closed her eyes, but they jerked open as he started to touch her broken ribs.

He nodded contently and continued to cut the textile from her arms. He held out his palm and the man restraining her hands released first her left arm for the doctor to examine then he took it back and released the other one. That was the one with the broken hand/wrist and he needed some time to determine which of the delicate bones were broken and what to do about it. He rummaged in his desk drawers and pulled out a splint, holding it to her arm. It was too big. Another one was right sized, and he fastened it. Again, he wrote and took pictures.

The ethanol he used to clean the open wounds stung and tears started to flow from her eyes down the sides of her face. Suddenly she was turned, and he cleaned and stitched some of the bigger wounds on her back.

They turned her again and the man at her hands hoisted her body up so the doctor could bandage her ribs. Ziva let them manhandle her, her body limp.

Then he cut her pants from her thin legs and tended to the wounds there. By now she was naked in between the three men – her underwear long gone – and she could feel both men restraining her shifting in anticipation. She closed her eyes.

Although the pain was minimal compared to before she was breathing hard when he cleaned and splintered the swollen inflamed leg. Then he pulled out two tiny pills. Due to her closed eyes she did not react, and he dug his fingers in between her teeth and let them fall inside her mouth. A flush of water made her swallow and she drank eagerly. He filled the cup a second time.

At last he tossed her some new clothes and the two men eagerly 'helped' her into it.

 **oOo**

Young Levi was still in his first year as Mossad officer. He was the unlucky guy who got identified by some terrorist and chosen as messenger. A tall, brutally strong man overwhelmed him in a backyard and Levi was already picturing himself dead when the companion of his assaulter threw something on the ground in front of him. The man on his back bent down to his ear. "See that your director gets this. He will love it." Then they left.

Levi jumped to his feet and rolled his twisted arm. Suspiciously he looked at the nondescript transparent CD case and carefully turned it, touching it only with a piece of his jacket and no more than necessary. A white disk was the only thing inside.

He picked it up and ran to his team leader.

 **oOo**

Director Eli David eyed the disk warily, his deputy next to him. Their specialists had checked it, no fingerprints, no traces, no chemicals, no bacteria. It was just a CD in a case.

"Let's see what it says." The deputy proposed.

In case there was some malware on it they used a specially protected and independent working computer. Both narrowed their eyes as soon as a familiar logo appeared. Then, Al Hari walked into the scene.

"David." He began. "Yesterday I got a gift. And I would like to share my delight with you. No doubt you are missing it dearly. After all, they say: Our children are our future. What does this tell you about your own future?"

 _It can_ _'_ _t be true_ , Eli thought disbelieving and his heart sank at that suspicion. _She is dead. She should be dead._ Then the camera angle swung and… it was true. Ziva sat there. Alive. Expressionless she looked to the camera lens, right into his eyes. Leg and arm splintered, face covered with bruises, her hair a mess, thin and pale.

Al Hari stepped next to her, patting her shoulder. "You've got anything to say to Daddy?"

Ziva didn't move, gave no indication that she had even heard him.

He shrugged and turned back to the camera. "Now listen to me, David. You will do as we say and dear Ziva here will be treated nicely. Obey and we may even release her. If you don't obey, your future is screwed. Choose wisely. I'm going to contact you again with directions and a deadline. Enjoy all the coming emergency meetings and briefings and good luck trying to find us." He grinned as if the imagination was amusing him.

The video ended rather abruptly with a close-up shot of Ziva and the cliché newspaper from yesterday behind her.

 **oOo**

In some ways her situation had improved. Of course, she was still a prisoner, locked into a room yet it was a clean one, had a mattress, a blanket, a bucket (much better than pissing in the bushes in front of them) and best was the fact they had not tied her hands. After weeks of constant observation, always restricted in her movement this normally implicitness felt like a priceless gift.

The company had not improved but at least for now she was shielded from the maliciousness of Khalid and the others.

However, she knew this protection would end as soon as the deadline for Mossad ran out.

 **oOo**

It is strange, how you see someone's worth or importance only after you lost him – or her.

Eli should have learned it by now. After all, with Tali it had been the same. His youngest, gentlest child, taken away so brutally and only then he knew what he had lost. Even Ari. Eli had grieved for the boy, cheeky and... Yet adult Ari had willingly betrayed him, and he could not forgive that. Ziva might betray him as well (or already had) but there was no choice for her. Eli knew better than most, everyone breaks under torture eventually.

Had Al Hari demanded money from the father to release the daughter, he might have met his demands. After all, he had enough money but only one remaining child.

But Al Hari had had contacted Director Eli David of Mossad and his demands were political.

 **oOo**

They had traveled to the right camp, found the right terrorist, learned their Ziva had been there but the devastating truth was: they had missed her.

After Gibbs, DiNozzo and McGee returned from Africa, overwhelmed, angry, desperate and yet full of hope because _Ziva is not dead_ , they briefed Leon Vance about this surreal situation.

Vance found it hard to believe but if there was a slight chance Ziva might be alive, in Israel, they needed to do something. So, he decided to inform Eli David only to find out he already knew.

"We do not know how she got there." Eli admitted. "She was missing since end of May in Somalia, falsely presumed dead. Somehow they brought her to Al Hari." He sounded tired and worn out and Vance wondered if the mighty Director of Mossad had finally reached his breaking point.

"Mossad has received a video, he wants to negotiate yet even if I'm willing to comply, this decision is not one to make by me alone. My deputy has already started whispering with others and it is only a matter of time until they will force me to step aside and then I can't do anything. They will try to free her but there won't be any deals, not even for my daughter."

"How can we help?"

Silence answered and then his resigned voice said: "You can't. I know how this is going to end. Accept her death."

 **oOo**

The journey from Somalia, thousands of kilometers with disgusting, violent and hateful men had been stressful, she had been constantly alert, always expected the worst.

So, the first thing Ziva did was sleeping. She slept for days almost nonstop. Sometimes deep and calm, sometimes shaken by nightmares. Sometimes she dreamed of Washington. Small things: Running in the park, smiling to Tony over the desks, Gibbs drinking coffee…

Ziva only made efforts to stay awake when there was food or water for her. Musa came a few times, administering other pills and she took them because one of them must be the one numbing the pain. A part of her screamed against this, argued her mind needed to be sharp and alert not dulled by pain medicine but for the first time in her life Ziva found she did not care. She craved to escape even if it was only in sleep.

Al Hari's one-sided negotiation gave her some rest.

It would only last a short time; her death sentence was signed.

Her future was nonexistent.

 **oOo**

"David. It was a mistake not to listen to me. I do not make empty threats. The next part is for you alone."

Eli could hardly look. By now he was suspended from this case due to questionable objectivity, yet they continued to inform him out of respect even if he could not place orders or decide what to do.

They beat her mercilessly until she was only half conscious then they drowned her repeatedly.

The water on her face looked just like tears as she coughed and panted and gasped.

 **oOo**

NCIS demanded and received copies of the videos, trying as hard as Mossad to find a clue, a hint about its origin and recording location. Abby was hardly responsive, crying at the mere thought of Ziva, living on Caf-Pow and beating herself up to find _something, anything_. McGee helped as much as possible. Tony and Gibbs were ill-tempered and desperate, the former showing it openly the latter bottled it up. Besides analyzing the videos, they had no evidence and they could do nothing but support Abby and McGee and hope for a miracle.

But miracles are something for fairytales with a constant happy ending. In a fairytale the beautiful girl might be taken prisoner, but the prince always comes right on time to save her.

And they did not live in a fairytale, they were no princes and their rescue came too late.

 **oOo**

There were reasons beyond assumed cold-heartedness that Mossad did not negotiate – if agencies or countries were open for blackmail… it's so easy for terrorists to kidnap someone, it would lead to chaos. It is a rational argument, yet it does not make watching or living with that decision easier.

Mossad got more videos. Al Hari seemed to be more angered by their inactivity each time and they knew it was only a matter of time until he would lose it.

 **oOo**

Al Hari's patience ran out on a Tuesday in the end of September.

In the walled garden a camcorder was mounted on a tripod and while waiting for his useless hostage Al Hari directed angry, spiteful words to its lens.

They had brought her outside for the first time in weeks and Ziva breathed in the fresh air, raised her face to the blue sky and the hills far away and knew what was to come.

Under a dying pomegranate tree Al Hari pulled out his gun and shot her in the head. And Ziva David collapsed to the ground, blood seeping into the dry sandy soil.

 **oOo**

The video found its way to Tel Aviv and Washington where the recipients fearfully awaited another torture sequence and instead watched how her life was blown out.

 **oOo**

Ziva's body was irreverently dumped in front of Mossad headquarters the next day.

Now Eli David sat next to her, thinking about all the wrong choices he had made. "I'm sorry Zivaleh," he whispered and buried his head in his hands.

Later her American friends would drag themselves to the morgue, deep lines in their faces and crying at the sight of their dear partner, daughter and friend.

 **oOo**

Al Hari had made two essential mistakes. Firstly, he had shot her outside and secondly, he had sent her body back to Mossad in his angry, mocking feeling of superiority.

Body and hints in the video, such as the position of the sun and the shadows as well as some minor landscape features allowed Mossad to determine the exact time of death and to narrow down the possible locations. By means of a lot of manpower, time and high-definition satellite pictures they found Al Hari's base. They raided it, killed several of them and took many prisoners. Al Hari was found among the dead.

Yet all revenge in the world could not bring Ziva back. Just like Gibbs, DiNozzo and McGee in Somalia, Mossad came too late as well.

Ziva David was born on a Friday and died on a Tuesday.

On her gravestone two wooden hand carved figures framed the letters, greeting the regular visitors.

A small ballerina danced gracefully with closed eyes, lost in the movement. Opposite, a motionless ninja stood, arms raised and a challenging laugh in her face.

.

Ziva David

Nov 1982 – Sep 2009

We miss you. We remember you.

.


End file.
